Warning

by Rayana S Hughes

  I gave a permittable snort. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Everyone knows you have this weird obsession with ghosts everywhere, or from the way I see it, lack thereof.”

  When we entered my apartment, I made Amy walk to the sink first which was only like two steps into the room. You could see from the door that there was no longer a bowl in the sink. I was actually kind of peeved because if I really had imagined the bowl, that means I was losing it. So, in the end, I decidedly moved on and pretended everything was normal.

  Too bad it wasn’t.

  I was asleep in my bed when I first heard the scratching noise. Of course, I automatically wrote it off as part of my dream— that night, I was being investigative in an abandoned barn and there were unicorns involved hiding in stables disguised as plain old horses.

  But then, I heard a bang and jolted awake. Most definitely not a dream. I tried hard to concentrate on the source of the noise, it didn’t sound like it was in my apartment, but rather in the hallway.

  I got up slowly and tiptoed to the door to look out the peephole. The peephole was scratched up to where I couldn’t see out. So of course, I did what every tragic hero in a horror movie does.

  I opened the door.

  But you’ll be proud to know I only opened it a crack.

  There was nothing there as to be expected so I tried to go back to sleep. The next morning, I got up, got dressed, made some breakfast and went to the other side of the divider to my so-called bathroom, and on the mirror, I saw a message written in sharpie, which would be a pain in the butt to try to get off, that heedless monster — “You will notice me.”

  At this point, I was officially freaked out, so I decided to use my policy of: If it’s suspicious, just assume it’s magically auspicious. I wiped my mirror and went to class. A week passed and nothing weird happened. Although I did nothing about the apparent vandalism of my apartment, I did make sure to give Jensen the evil eye at lunchtime. He took this with a grain of salt and continued to be clingy at a distance.

  By that, I mean talking about me to everyone in his office so often that they thought we were dating. I had to set the record straight, but there was an important mock case coming up, so I had no time to formulate a heartbreaking plan. It would have to wait until next week. It’s hard to remember the exact dates that everything happened because this was four years ago.

  But I do remember the day I had to call the cops for the first time and file assault. It was a Saturday, at 3:30 p.m. The Friday before, I slept at a friend’s house and went home early morning to the apartment door closed shut but unlocked. I assumed it was just because I forgot to lock it when leaving. So, I went to bed and inadvertently fell asleep.

  This next part happened in slow motion.

  Morning came around, and I opened my eyes to find an arm flung over my waist. In case you forgot, I’m single.

  I let out a scream I didn’t even know I had in me and flung the arm away from me, jumping out of bed. It was a mannequin arm. Now, it was time to call the cops. I know, I know, a little late for that. Put a sock in it. I’m aware. But when I grabbed the landline, I could only dial ninety-one before it was snatched from my hands. I whipped around and saw none other than Jensen.

  Part of me didn’t want to believe it, but by the way his warm breath hit my face, I knew it was very real. He also had this set smile on his face that was not only trepidatious but volitional. He knew exactly what line he had crossed and didn’t care which made the whole situation freaking terrifying.

  In a way, I was lucky because he could have done terrible things to me, but my dad convinced me to sign up for self-defense classes where I learned intensive maneuvers that could help in many unfortunate situations.

  Too bad I forgot all of it in that moment and did the whole knee in groin before beelining it for the door. I ran barefoot down the hall knocking on every apartment door I passed screaming help me. He didn’t get very far before a guy I called Beef stopped him. My next-door neighbor, Mrs. Cathy, called the cops and sat with me until they came.

  When they inspected my apartment, they found (including but not limited to): his hair in my bed, and some of his belongings hidden away in my drawers.

  I didn’t notice because I’m hardly at my apartment unless it’s to sleep. But the pervert was attempting to move in. They also found a double of my apartment keys on him. Jensen was thrown in prison, and I filed a restraining order, but there was no way I could spend another night in that apartment. I moved into my friend’s apartment building which had twenty-four-hour security, and a more central location.

  This whole ordeal made me finally start to pay attention to my surroundings. My parents freaked when they heard the news and I had to talk my dad out of paying Jensen a visit. Things could have gone so much worse and while this book is about the failing of my advances toward love, I’d take being single for the rest of my life if it meant I’d never met Jensen.

  How does a whole *** man manage to skillfully move in, and I still can’t tie my shoes without implementing the bunny ear method?

  Age 27

  (Less Somber, I promise)

  I went to jail.

  Now hear me out, I am not a cold-blooded criminal. I follow the law and I steer clear of sketchy situations. But that doesn’t mean that things don’t get odd from time to time. What I’ve learned is that I’m just the type of person that something like this would happen to. I’ve also learned a sassy tone with an officer is a one-way ticket behind bars.

  The setting was the mall, and the store was a clothing place called Chuckie’s. That place may sound like it was all sorts of creepy, but I promise it was actually the cutest clothing boutique in the mall which is why I spend a small fortune there every so often.

  This next part will not merely be cursory. I was taught to never rob someone of a good story. Hence, the immense detail. I was looking for a sock. Not just any sock. The sock of my dreams. Notice I didn’t say socks.

  Why, you may not have asked? It was my favorite sock, part of a pair. They were my lucky socks and quite cute. They had “Hippocrite” scrawled across one, and a hippo with sunglasses on the other, the one that was viciously eaten by my dryer and in tatters when I finally discovered its endangered state. Not only was I in shock, but I was also heartbroken, which tends to happen to me a lot. View previous chapters for details.

  Anyway, it was easily fixable, I just had to go to the store and get that sock. For future reference, the socks came in singles at Chuckie’s. I arrived at the store promptly to complete chaos. Not only was it packed, but there was a line wrapped around the store for the sporadic fifty percent off sale the store had. But I was a warrior and I needed that sock, so I braved the storm and charged in to the store, straight to the socks. I had to do some deep searching and hold out temptation to get every pair of socks found with a pun on them. I practice self-control one day at a time.

  After I located the hippo at the very bottom of the pile collecting dust, I held it up in triumph and proceeded to checkout. What seemed like a literal hour later, I moseyed out of the store. Except I didn’t because I got stopped at the exit when the alarm went off. The store clerk screamed, “Hey you, get back here!”

  I considered running for it, decided that would make me look guilty, and slinked back into the store where the clerk demanded my bag be checked by the mall security. I was flabbergasted. The audacity! I had to wait at the checkout desk until security came.

  This man was FINE.

  His name was Officer Cole and he was toned in all the right places. That’s all you need to know.

  He breezed up to me and asked to take a look in my bag so of course I threw it at him, as well as my number. But he didn’t want that. He did some soul searching in my bag and found a two-pack set of pacifiers and a bib. As well as baby wipes, which I can assure you are things I would have no reason to steal.

  He looked at me like I was an irresponsible mom. I was very hurt that he would even consider such a no
tion. Truly devasting. I thought that over the two seconds he’d known me, we’d made a connection. But nope, he was lackluster about this new development.

  I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “If you really think I stole that stuff, you don’t need to be a cop. What is my incentive? I don’t have a child, not that you would know, but you can stop looking at me like I killed your mother.”

  What happened, you may ask, after the contents of my purse were discovered—not guilty by the way—and I spoke on my own expense?

  I was sent to mall jail.

  A jail that was more jail than mall. It was a transformed dungeon down in the mall basement. There were three cells lined up, side by side and the officer’s desk in front of them. The entire room was this smoky gray color and it smelled like baloney. I felt an interrogation coming later. As Officer Fine threw me into cell one, I pleaded my innocence and promised him I had never stolen anything. He looked at me through the bars in disgust.

  Just in case I might have mistaken that look for lust, he made sure to mumble, “People like you disgust me.”

  While I was clearly in distress, I made sure to take a moment to admire his commitment to his job. Considering not much happens that a mall cop can pour his attention into, I was probably the highlight of this guy’s afternoon. He sure was the height of mine. Even with the apparent need for me to tilt my head a certain way to look out the bars and see him.

  Things turned irritable quite fast. For starters, Officer Cole was being a jerk and taking this way too seriously. Not only would he circle around my cell like a hammer shark, often slapping the bars as he did so, but he also would go back to his desk and sit down quietly, luring me into thinking that he was done freaking me out, and then he would jump up slam both hands on the desk and scream, “I asked you a question!”

  This guy really thought I found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or something and forgot to tell him. As if continually asking me why I stole the stuff would make me confess to new information. It was draining to say the least and I was really close to telling him about his unflattering characteristics when he finally decided he’d gotten what he wanted and sat down. Meanwhile, my butt was going numb from sitting on the metal bench.

  We sat in silence for a beat longer. I tried to break the ice with a joke, and he looked like he wanted to strangle me. Eventually, I decided to give up and accept my fate as a jailbird. But it was like something clicked and all of a sudden Officer Cole plastered a smile on his face that seemed like a mix between utter bemusement and surprising genuineness.

  He approached me. “You look nice today.” It was like the calm before the storm. He cleared his throat and lowered his sunglasses. “The way your eyes shine when you speak is truly inspiring.”

  Now, I’m not one to diagnose people but if you want to call out the behavior this man was exhibiting, feel free to do so. I for one must remain as objective as possible, because I don’t want this to be taken the wrong way. But the way this guy switched moods was outlandish. I attempted to accept his weird change of mood and sweet-talk him. But, two seconds later, he was back to Drill Sargent and giving me five minutes to make a call.

  I tried to call Ali because I figured she was the most likely to come get me with no questions asked.

  She didn’t pick up.

  Officer Cole sent me back to my cell after the dead-end phone call and said I needed to reflect a little longer on my crimes. Need I remind you that this was the most unorthodox run in with the law I had ever had. I was sitting on the metal bench wondering: one, why no one had come to rescue me yet, and two, why I was basically being held captive by a moody maniac. There, I said it. Anyway, the whole jail thing was starting to get old, so I pulled out what I knew from graduate school and used it against him.

  I won’t bore you with the details, because I was a student at the time and some of the phrases I used definitely were not official. But because I made myself seem like I knew what I was doing, things turned out okay. Now, for the part where I was released. I countered Officer Cole.

  Without confirmation that I did steal the stuff, I demanded he look at the tape reel of the hidden cameras.

  There was one in the teddy bear sitting at the entrance of Chuckie’s.

  There was no reason for the store owners to be so elaborate with a camera’s hiding spot, everyone knows that most department stores have cameras around the store to keep things in line. But Chuckie’s was unique as I’ve exclaimed before, so I’ll let it slide.

  Officer Cole was reluctant to check out the tapes but agreed because he wanted me to “watch my actions and reflect.” Which makes absolutely no sense: why would I beg to see the tapes just to watch myself steal?

  After what seemed like way too long, he finally agreed to pull up the tapes.

  The manager of Chuckie’s was required by the company to watch the video with us, and all three of us piled in my cell to watch the video.

  Let that sink in, I was with two idiots.

  As we watched the video, the first thing we noticed was me at the sock section acting like a fool. I have no reconciliation of this, but after I found the hippo sock, I did a little Irish jig and saluted the sock stand. In any other public audience, I would’ve been horrified, but no one noticed as the majority of people in the store were in line already. The next frame showed me getting in line. All seemed normal and I was far from guilty. But then, the most bizarre thing happened.

  I bent over to tie my shoe and put my bag down. Three seconds before I looked back up, a little boy no older than four had slid the stolen products in my bag. I had been framed by a BABY. It doesn’t stop there because after I stood back up, the boy had walked out the store and I was blissfully unaware. Chuckie’s cameras sprinkle the entire store, including one facing the entrance.

  The store manager pulled up those tapes, and we watched in horror as the boy walked over to who seemed to be his mom and sat in her lap. She high-fived him and they just smiled in the direction of the store. Surely enough, I finally came out of the store and turned around confused, assumingly because the Chuckie employee called me back in the store. The look on the mother and her son changed from excited to nervous, she grabbed his hand and they walked away. In summary, not only am I clueless, but I also almost got incarcerated because a mother decided teaching her child to steal was better than honest integrity. I will refrain from judging, but boy did it feel good to demand to be released. Officer Cole looked at me apologetically and said he would release me right away.

  The Chuckie’s manager thought the fact that a four-year-old was learning the ways of a thief was hilarious and doubled over in laughter. We left him in the cell. Officer Fine—yes, his true name has been reinstated—brought me my release papers and asked for my number. You’ll be happy to know that I told him it was 1-800-never and stormed out.

  That, ladies and gentlemen, was the time I went to jail. As for the kid, to that I’ll say, it’s the ones you least expect that try to get you locked up. That newborn baby you saw in the grocery store on the next aisle over is probably plotting to tie your shoelaces together. Yeah, remember that for the future.

  Intermission: Soulmates

  I haven’t done an intermission in a while so allow me to introduce the topic of soulmates. Not only do I believe in them, but I also believe I don't have one. A soulmate is one person who is meant to be your person. Not like you own them or something, but the whole “they’re yours and you’re theirs” complex. It sounds subtly territorial, but because of the churning masses, that complex is deemed admirable.

  If you strip away all the bad parts, essentially, you get two human beings who are meant to be together. Believing that, no matter the different paths the people may take, the paths always lead back to each other.

  E.g. the person they are supposed to be with. It’s quite nauseating. I have the notion that there is someone waiting for me so drilled in my head that every time I pass the opposite gender (appropriately aged) I wonder if they
may be my soulmate. Sometimes, the verdict is, “Boy, I sure hope so.”

  Other times I, like the entire human population, will look at a man with judgement and the second I’ve judged him, it will run through my mind: “Crap, what if that was my soulmate?”

  I’m now convinced that the man I saw at the nail salon getting a French manicure with his wife is my soulmate and not hers. My thought process is quite endangering to my mental health, but that just makes life more interesting. On a more serious note, I feel I should probably add a disclaimer. While I have still found no source of romantic happiness and am starting to spiral, that doesn’t mean you will too.

  If you happen to be single, it’s probably because your potential soulmate hasn’t found you yet. There is a slight chance that may be my issue. I’ll probably meet my soulmate at eighty-four, when we both break a hip and are put in the same nursing home. How sweet.

  But, in your case, lucky reader, hopefully you’ve got time. Now, if you are eighty-four, good luck with that. Other than that, wait a little longer, little grasshopper. As more and more movies come out of people in love, they are getting surprisingly more unrealistic than before. So, take those movies with a grain of salt and focus on yourself. That lucky someone will come when you least expect it. At least, that’s what my self-help book said. But I read that ten years ago and here we are. Great. Now that that’s been established, let us move on.

  Intermission: Big Gestures

  Wait! This intermission is not over, I also want to touch on the subject of Displays of Affection. The way that many show their love for their significant others ranges from simple and sweet, to jumping out of an air balloon just to propose, buying them a car for fun, or taking that special someone on a trip out of the country. Allow me to rewrite that in bold and italicize it, feel free to take that notion as me yelling it. Take them on a trip out of the country. That is freaking ridiculous.